Scar Tissue
by Obsession37
Summary: Brennan contemplates the scars Booth has post "Goop on the Girl"  What does it all mean?


Scar Tissue

Disclaimer: I don't own anything.

Notes: Something about TV that has always bothered me is the reliance on "suspension of disbelief." We believe that these characters undergo physical trauma, are beat to hell, but come out relatively unscathed and keep going. That's not really possible. Is it?

Post "Goop on the Girl"

It was imperative that I gather all the evidence immediately. It was a more pleasant than the usual process, but trying to be professional I made a mental catalogue for later.

I don't often get to stare unabashedly, taking the time to make a perfect mental picture.

Booth has an amazingly toned physique. As a woman I certainly find it alluring. But I can compartmentalize better than most. As an anthropologist I found it an exemplary specimen. As a friend, I found it painful. Because I'm a doctor. And I understand the severity of trauma a body must endure to look like Booth's. I don't mean the general strain of staying in shape at an age when the body naturally begins to accept the march of time.

I mean the scars. The dozens of scars all over his beautiful body. That gunshot just below his clavicle. The bullet tore into his pectoral and sub-clavian muscles. It would have taken months to heal completely. Months to breathe and twist and lift Parker onto his shoulders without pain. Did it still hurt to lift his growing boy?

The burn to his vastus medialis. He told me much later that those bastards had used a screwdriver, heated with a blowtorch to carve into his thigh. At least he wasn't ticklish there anymore he said. The feeling still hadn't returned within an inch of the scar tissue. And yet he made light of it, although I observed he made few sexual advances towards anyone for almost 2 months afterwards, leaving me to wonder if his virility had been damaged giving the trauma so close to…well, other things.

Then there was his back. He'd used his body to shield another soldier, and the skin over detoid, trapezius, and latissimus muscles showed multiple small scars. Light and nearly faded away. Shrapnel. Hot metal tore through his uniform, around his ill positioned body armor. It would have been removed with large tweezers and a scalpel. According to his records he'd refused anesthesia. And morphine after.

Don't get me started on his feet. There's no scarring visible, but his x-rays show the damage to his bones. They've healed, but the remodeling is still present. Bones scar too, I would know. It's a miracle he can walk.

I could keep going. Multiple blows to the head while apprehending suspects. Repetitive stress injury to his knees from college level athletics. I'm sure x-rays of his hands would reveal multiple healed hairline fractures to the intermediate and proximal phalanges from his time boxing in the Army.

I've felt pain. I've been injured too. I know how badly his injuries hurt. And somehow he finds the superhuman strength necessary to still walk and run and shoot. And protect me.

I find it annoying, really. Well that's not true. I found it annoying, past tense. I recognize now that his instinct to protect me comes from his hyper-sensitized sense of family. Anthropologically speaking, he has come to view me as a member of his clan, and as the alpha male, his fitness is determined by his ability to protect me. Despite my more than adequate ability to provide for myself, demonstrated on every level: socially, sexually, physically, his position and therefore his manliness, depends on his ability to provide for me in some way.

I have come to accept that it is his measure of self-worth, however misguided. Perhaps it is my own projection affecting my interpretation. Most people would say that my lack of family during my formative years would create a severe demand for that as an adult. Perhaps I've just imagined myself as a member of his family. But after his words at Christmas dinner, I know it to be a fact.

And I don't really mind all that much anymore. Perhaps initially I felt a sense of guilt. His exceptional form was scarred and battered because of my presence in his life. But in a strange turn of events, having proved my own worth in our partnership, I carry my own set of scars from protecting him. By leaving my position of reserved and removed observations and joining wholeheartedly in his fight against the things that are dark and wrong and evil in this world, I no longer feel guilty at his protecting me.

It is the price we pay. We carry our scars and continue on, fighting against evil, insanity, time and the inevitable degradation of our own human forms. And somehow, we still walk.

And I still have my mental catalogue of an outstanding specimen of a modern-day warrior when I need something to smile about.


End file.
